


Always I climbed the wave at Morning

by skytramp



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/pseuds/skytramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Always I climbed the wave at morning,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Shook the sand from my shoes at night,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>That now am caught beneath great buildings,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Stricken with noise, confused with light.</i>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <b>Edna St. Vincent Millay, <i>Exiled</i></b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always I climbed the wave at Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hilaryfaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Marilyn, I'm a big fat procrastinator but I hope writing a tiny intro of your favorite AU will make up for it. <3

The way Harasawa spent hour after hour staring at the water lapping against the wooden sides of the ship you would think he missed dry land. It was quite the opposite. Land had never held the appeal of the sea, and as soon as he’d been old enough to latch onto his father’s leg and beg to be brought aboard his merchant trading ship he’d been at home on the waves. 

After his father’s death he’d continued the company, shipping everything from textiles to crab. He had a home, officially, a little house on a rocky outcropping that held a wife and two kids, and the two or three weeks a year he spent with them were pleasant enough, but nothing ever felt right without the deck swaying beneath him and the taste of salt on his lips. 

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, drawing him from his memories. “I don’t pay you to stand around and stare at the water, Katchan.” 

Harasawa didn’t look, but he could tell Imayoshi was smiling, he was always smiling in a way that seemed to hide darker intentions. “I don’t think you pay me at all, _Captain_.” 

Imayoshi leaned in, pressing his face close to the side of Harasawa’s neck. He focused his eyes on the horizon, trying not to shiver where Imayoshi touched him. “I _do_ enjoy it when you call me Captain.” 

A yell from the rigging pulled Imayoshi away from him and brought Harasawa to attention. It was true he had duties to attend to, thought it was also strictly true that he wasn’t being paid. Pirates didn’t have wages to speak of, at least not ones so recently recruited. He had food, from the captain’s own table, warmth in the wide hammock they shared, and the scorn of First Mate Susa to rival the angriest storm, what need did he have of wages? 

He followed the commotion, a ship had been sighted, and set to pulling the sails with a few other crew members. Many years at sea had trained a deftness into his fingers, they did not slip on the ropes, and his arms barely fatigued. They neared the ship with a superhuman speed, winds strong at their back, and soon enough details could be seen to know the ship was no threat. It truly had only been a few weeks since it was _his_ ship, a small vessel that he’d worked hard to keep seaworthy, filled to the brim with textiles and a healthy amount of rice from the continent, was in the same position as the strangers across the water, within range of Imayoshi’s ambitions, soon enough to fall before him. 

The ship surrendered at the first smiling threat from Imayoshi’s mouth, and when they boarded it was with empty chests for loot, not swords drawn for confrontation. Harasawa could see himself in the hunchbacked captain of this trader, see the fear in his eyes that quickly turned to humiliation and resignation. His livelihood was walking away, piece by piece, in the hands of pirates, and there was nothing he could do but watch. When they left the trader, sails slashed but still barely useable, and most of the crew intact, Harasawa breathed easier. It was better to forget where he came from, how readily he’d surrendered, how all it had taken was a wink and a veiled suggestion to get him on his knees before the captain, first in public then in private. 

By the time they left the ship in their wake, the sun was setting and the loot was all stowed belowdecks. Harasawa stretched and rolled his shoulders. The evening air felt good on his face, and he squinted towards the horizon, where the sun set in direction of land he had no desire to see again. 

“Harasawa, will you meet me in my quarters?” Imayoshi called across the deck as he hopped down the ladder from the upper decks to the main. He didn’t respond, but he made sure the night crewman was there to take his place and he followed his captain. Imayoshi didn’t turn back as Harasawa followed him down the narrow hallway, lined on both sides with small rooms housing crew quarters. They passed the small galley and entered the captain’s quarters. Imayoshi removed his hat, running both hands through his hair before turning back to where Harasawa stood by the closed door. 

“Do you ever regret it, Katchan? Joining us?” Imayoshi asked as he turned towards the quickly darkening windows. The windows were wide, covering most of the stern of the ship, an expensive status symbol that spoke more to Imayoshi’s reputation than anything else. 

Harasawa took a deep breath, hesitating more for effect than anything. “No, sir, I don’t regret it.” 

Imayoshi glanced back, looking above his eyeglasses as they dipped low on his nose. “What about joining me? Do you regret that?” 

“Never.” It was strange, how easily the thought came to his lips, and how he couldn’t have hesitated even if he tried. 

“Ah, ‘never’ what, Katchan?” He raised an eyebrow and Harasawa wanted to roll his eyes. 

“Never, _sir_.” 

“Thank you, I’m very fond of the way you say that.” 

“I thought it was just ‘Captain’ that you liked...sir.” Harasawa responded, his voice monotone. 

Imayoshi laughed, and balanced on the edge of his wide hammock, set in an alcove in the wall. He slipped the boots from his feet before scooting back. The hammock swayed gently, mirroring the movement of the waves, and the momentum caused by Imayoshi’s movement. 

“Ah yes, that, too. Come over here and fuck me, Katchan.” 

Harasawa wanted to roll his eyes again, at the nickname if nothing else, but an order was an order and he wanted nothing more than to obey, so he crossed the room instead. 

When they kissed it was so reminiscent of the sea that Harasawa thought he was likely to drown in it. The chapped skin of Imayoshi's lips, salty with ocean air, the give and take where their tongues pressed against each other, the way the hammock swayed as Harasawa hovered over Imayoshi, everything was cyclical, repeating, an unrelenting natural force. 

Imayoshi pulled impatiently at Harasawa's clothes, stripping him first of his shirt and then tugging his trousers halfway down his thighs before lying back to enjoy the view. Harasawa went slower. He kissed every part of Imayoshi as he revealed it, sinking his tongue into the hollows of his collarbone, pressing soft, light kisses down his chest with every unhooked button, biting softly at the bump of his hip bones when his waistband was pulled down. 

"I plan on getting some sleep tonight, will you _please_ hurry up." Imayoshi said, digging into the pocket of his discarded shirt before pressing a small vial into Harasawa's hand. 

Harasawa looked up from where he was kissing the outside of Imayoshi's thigh and smiled gently. "Yes, Captain." He replied. 

Imayoshi lifted his hips in response, widening where his legs sat on the hammock and inviting Harasawa to continue. If Harasawa could have his way he'd spend every night like this, between Imayoshi's legs, slowly kissing every part of him. Imayoshi was squirming impatiently again, and Harasawa knew the time for slow kissing was done. He poured some oil from the bottle Imayoshi had handed him over his fingers and pressed them against Imayoshi. 

The resistance was minimal, but the sharp intake of breath Harasawa heard was more than enough evidence that he was being felt. Imayoshi was only half hard, but as Harasawa stretched him, moving and twisting his fingers, he adjusted quickly, and soon wrapped his own hand around his cock, unable to wait any longer. 

“Come on,” Imayoshi breathed, and Harasawa listened, sliding up on his knees and pulling out his fingers to line himself up. He pushed inside with a strangled sigh of his own. He tried not to think about anything except how good it felt and his mouth fumbled at the skin of Imayoshi’s shoulder, kissing against a scar there. 

They continued, in repeated motion, Harasawa’s hips pressing in, Imayoshi with his head thrown back against the course canvas of the hammock. They were getting louder, heavy breathing giving way to grunts and moans, Imayoshi’s cock was still in his fist, wedged between both of their stomachs. 

When they finished, it was Imayoshi that came first, breathing in a whiny high pitch against the back of his own hand, his back and leg muscles clenching and twitching. Harasawa followed quickly afterwards, and he couldn’t stop himself from saying Imayoshi’s name. 

Afterwards, they laid together, Imayoshi pressed into Harasawa’s side with his arm flopped over his chest. 

“Why do you only call me Shouichi in bed?” Imayoshi asked, toying idly with Harasawa’s nipple, watching it react as he flicked it. 

Harasawa swallowed. “You’re my captain.” He replied. 

Imayoshi laughed and Harasawa could feel his breath on his skin. “I’m always your captain.” 

“If you want me to call you captain during sex you need only ask.” Harasawa allowed himself a smile. 

“Maybe I want you to call me Shouichi outside of my quarters.” Imayoshi suggested, just a hint of joking in his voice. 

“That would be inappropriate.”

“Fucking your captain is inappropriate, calling him by his name is just good manners.” 

Harasawa supposed he was right, and conceded as much. He privately told himself nothing would change, he would still call Imayoshi Captain, or just Imayoshi, and he would continue to only be called Katchan in private, and Harasawa elsewhere. They had a routine, though it was built on shaky nonverbal vows and the unwritten promise that every pirate memorized: death and defeat could always be over the next horizon.


End file.
